“So what in the Sixth Hell was important enough that you had to drag me out of bed barely after the birds started up?” Nils asked.
“Showing Cas that he’s making a mistake wasting my summer with those stupid riding lessons,” I said. If I could find some new information on the Recusants, he’d have to reevaluate.
“Riding lessons? You don’t need those.” He gave me a puzzled look.
“Not me, numbskull. I’ve been ordered to give lessons to Princess Dennaleia, starting this afternoon. Right now when it comes to horses, the girl’s as much use as tits on a saddle.”
“That’s not all bad. I’ve found there are many benefits to befriending the noblewomen at court,” he said with a sly grin.
“Maybe for you.” I snorted. “If I befriend Dennaleia, it’ll play right into my father’s and Cas’s plans. They’re probably hoping she’ll turn me into a perfect princess who will be happily married off before winter. I’d rather eat hoof trimmings. Besides, no noble with half their wits about them would befriend me.”
“I befriended you,” he said.
“You were different,” I countered. He wasn’t noble, so he didn’t have a court reputation to destroy. We’d constantly been in trouble together in our horsemanship classes. Friendship was inevitable, as was what had come after—even if it hadn’t lasted.
“Or I possess no sense of self-preservation,” he teased. “So where are we going?”
I drew my mare to a halt at the end of the next street. Above our heads the painted outline of a circle in bright white adorned the side of a merchant’s shop, and across the road a building had been burned nearly to the ground. My stomach dropped a little.
“Recusants,” Nils said grimly.
“Let’s start at the Deaf Dog,” I said. A favorite of off-duty liegemen, it was one of the cleanest pubs in town—and a good place to trade money for information. I’d intended to drag Nils to the Pelham, but the burned building made me think twice about heading straight for the seediest alehouse in Lyrra.
We hitched our horses to the rail outside the Deaf Dog and took seats inside near the window. People in the passing traffic laughed or jeered, hurried or took their time, unconstrained by formality and protocol. Tension melted out of me. Outside the castle I didn’t have to deal with people bowing as I passed, or the smirks I pretended not to see.
“Coffee for ye, m’lads?” a rumbling baritone asked.
I looked up and smiled at Graum, the proprietor.
“Make it a double,” Nils said.
“Aye! Nice to see ye. It’s been a while.” Graum clapped me on the back with a meaty hand, nearly knocking me into the table. “Black tea, no sugar?”
“Exactly right. Thank you,” I replied with a smile.
“Always such nice manners on ye, lad.” He grinned. “Your mother raised you right.”
My smile faltered at the mention of my mother, but he didn’t seem to notice as he lumbered off.
When Graum returned, he barely glanced at the coin I’d left crown side down on the table. Nevertheless, it vanished into his hand somewhere between setting down my tea and asking me if I’d like anything else.
I placed two fingers on the edge of the table, the code for politics.
He moved my tea mug to the left side of my plate. New information.
I picked up my fork to indicate that I would stay.
He placed four fingers on the edge of the table, and I exchanged a look with Nils. What I wanted to know wasn’t going to come cheaply.
I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to give away the ease with which I could pay his price.
“The food is good,” I said at last, agreeing to his terms.
He nodded and walked off, the grin back.
A few minutes later a man slid into the bench across from us. His unmemorable face was crowned with jet-black hair, neatly trimmed. The cut of his clothing was almost too simple, and definitely too clean for the working-class style he wore—the subtle hallmarks of a spy.
“Two mugs?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered, passing a handful of coins to him under the table. His palm was rough and warm against my fingers.
“Many think the crown has gone soft thanks to the false security provided by the alliance with Havemont,” he said, his voice pitched to be barely audible above the buzz of the pub. “A group of heretics known as the Recusants opposes the alliance. The extremists among them want to see the High Adytum reclaimed only for magic users rather than worshipers of the Six. Conversely, those who feel most strongly that magic is heresy believe that the Directorate and the king are not doing enough to quiet these pockets of unrest and to keep Mynaria safe and pure.”
I gnawed anxiously at my lip. It wasn’t anything I didn’t know. But while I agreed that the Directorate was full of stuffy old windbags who rarely got anything done, the alliance had been in the works for so long that it seemed inevitable, and our kingdoms had been at peace since the signing of the decrees years ago. The High Adytum couldn’t be the only problem.
“What else?” I asked.
“The Recusants have always counted on being able to use Havemont as a roundabout gateway to Zumorda. Some say that Zumorda has counted on it as well, for the trade of illegal goods. Havemont’s borders are far less regulated than the one between Mynaria and Zumorda, as the people of Havemont are less stringently opposed to magic.”
“What does that mean for the crown?” Nils asked.
“It’s been suggested that the Zumordans may rise to side with the Recusants,” the spy said.
“What?” I squeaked. If an entire kingdom was willing to step up and fight for the interests of a small rebel group, the problems were far larger than Cas had told us. No one knew exactly how powerful Zumorda might be, but given that it was the only kingdom to offer refuge for magic users, making an enemy of it would be unwise at best.
The man’s gaze held steady, but a muscle twitched in his right cheek.
“Magic users from the east—” The spy cut off as an eruption of shouting began in the street.
Nils set down his mug and craned his head out the window. “Six Hells!”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Other patrons had already surged to their feet and flooded out the front door.
I turned back to the spy, only to see that he’d slipped away, unwilling to get caught in a situation that seemed to be going east. One coin remained on the table—the price of not getting me all the information I’d been promised. I swore under my breath.
Nils and I ran outside straight into a brawl. Fists flew in a surging crowd of people that seemed to be continually increasing in size. Our horses skittered at the hitching rail, the whites of their eyes showing.
“We need to get out of here,” Nils said, already untying Holler.
But then I saw what had started the fight. At the end of a nearby alley, half a white circle on the side of a building still dripped with fresh paint. My heart jumped into my throat.
“This started with the Recusants,” I said, sidestepping a man who nearly staggered into me as he reeled from a punch.
“An even better reason to leave,” Nils replied.
We swung into our saddles and urged our horses away from the riot. As we broke free of the crowd, so did a man, with three others right on his heels. I did a double take. White paint was spattered on his arms. He had to be the Recusant who’d started it. The four men dashed down a narrow alley between two tall buildings, and I took a hard right to follow them.
“Dammit!” Nils yelled behind me. I hoped to the Six he’d follow.
The three men pounced on their victim halfway down the alley, flinging him against the stone wall of a building. He slid down into a trickle of water that reeked of garbage.
“How does that feel, you dirty scum?” one of them said as he landed a kick.
“Hey!” I shouted.
The three men looked up, faces twisted in identical expressions of hate.
&
nbsp; “Are you a magic lover too?” the tallest man sneered. One of his front teeth was broken in half, and it looked like a fist had adjusted the position of his nose more than once.
“Oh, for the love of the Six,” Nils muttered as he rode up alongside me.
“What did he ever do to you?” I asked, hoping I sounded cockier than I felt.
One of them spat on the fallen man. “Sold my youngest son to the Zumordans, they did.”
And then the men were upon me, one of them trying to tug me out of the saddle by the leg, and another reaching for my mare’s reins.
Holler leaped forward. Nils swiped a broken broom handle from a trash pile, brandishing it like a jousting lance. One of them tried to grab it from him, but he thrust it into the man’s chest and knocked him flat. Then he cued Holler to lash out with his back hooves, narrowly missing the second. I held out a hand and took the broom handle from Nils, hoping the skittish little mare would hold steady for me. I squeezed her forward and swung the weapon into the tall man’s head, tossing it back over my shoulder to Nils afterward. When the men saw Holler bearing down on them again, they ran like a pack of stray dogs.
I slipped out of the saddle and crouched next to the man on the ground, helping him into a sitting position. He was better dressed than the others, but not much, with the wiry look of a courier. Dark, shaggy hair streaked with gray hung into his eyes, and blood dripped from a split lip.
“If you answer my questions, we might let you go,” I said. “First, what’s your name?”
He eyed us mistrustfully, wincing as he probed his ribs. Nils shifted his grip on the broom handle, and the man put up his hands. “Alen!” he said. “My name is Alen.”
“Is it true you sold that man’s child to Zumorda?” I needed to know if he actually deserved our help, or if we’d be better off trying to haul him in.
“We don’t sell children. We save them,” Alen said, swiping at the blood drying on his chin.
“Save them from what?” I said sharply.
“Parents who think purification rituals will cleanse Affinities,” Alen said bitterly. “We send gifted children to Zumorda, where they can be trained and won’t hurt anyone by accident. We only want to keep everyone safe.”
If Cas knew anything about that, he hadn’t mentioned it. In theory, Alen and his cohort were providing a useful service to the kingdom, even if the methods were questionable.
“Who is ‘we’?” I asked.
“The Syncretic Circle,” he said.
Apparently the Recusants went by more than one name. I rocked back on my heels and looked up at Nils. He frowned, no doubt wondering how deep the manure was that we’d stepped in now.
Feet pounded over the cobblestones as three men and a woman appeared at the far end of the alley. Alen waved weakly in their direction.
“Let’s go. Now,” Nils said, giving me a look that forestalled any argument.
I reluctantly mounted my horse. I wanted to interrogate Alen further, but we couldn’t take on four others, especially if any of them had magic on their side.
“We’ll find out more at the Pelham,” I said as soon as we were out of earshot.
“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Nils said. “We can’t risk another fight. You’re already covered in blood, and don’t you have a lesson to teach this afternoon?”
“I’d prefer the Pelham,” I said.
“Mare.” Nils gave me a pleading look.
“Fine,” I grumbled.
Several minutes passed before he spoke again.
“You know I’d do anything for you,” he said softly, his brow furrowed. “But as a liegeman, I can’t run around playing vigilante. I got lucky that those brutes were cowards. Sure, I’m trained to take down three men—with a sword or spear. Not with a broken broom handle.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and reached for his hand. “If anything ever happened to you . . .” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.
The expression on his face didn’t change, but he took my hand. We walked our horses side by side that way for a while, until the tension of the fight left his grip.
“You wouldn’t deliberately endanger me. I know that,” he said.
“I wouldn’t,” I said firmly. I shouldn’t have been so careless. Even though we were no longer lovers, he was so much more to me than a bodyguard, and always would be. I hoped he knew.
As for me, I was already planning to sneak out alone after Dennaleia’s lesson to broker a second meeting with that spy.
FIVE
Dennaleia
MY HANDS SHOOK WITH NERVES AS I HEADED TO MY first riding lesson. Thandilimon accompanied me, seemingly oblivious to how ridiculous I looked in riding breeches. The hot afternoon sun beat down on us, amplifying my dread as we made our way through the castle gardens toward the stables. Thandilimon kept a brisk pace, telling me a story about a time he and Amaranthine had gotten in trouble with Captain Ryka for trying out the mounted archery course before they’d had any instruction.
“We could barely keep our ponies going in straight lines, much less shoot anything. Arrows were sticking out of every place except the targets. If we had been anyone else’s children, Ryka might have shot us. It was Mare’s idea, of course.” He laughed.
“It sounds as though Amaranthine makes her own rules,” I said. His story was almost a good distraction, but I couldn’t get over feeling strangely exposed in my outfit and anxious about dealing with Amaranthine.
“Mare’s rule book is a mystery to us all. Will your sister have similar stories about you when she arrives for her visit?” he teased.
“You’ll never know. Ali keeps my secrets.” I tried for what I hoped was a flirtatious smile.
“Do you have something in your eye?” he asked.
“Only the sun,” I said, embarrassed. Flirtation had evidently not been adequately covered in my etiquette classes. I quickly changed the subject. “Has the Directorate made any progress getting more information on the Recusants?”
“Not much,” Thandilimon said. “Many of the leads Casmiel’s spies followed turned out to be dead ends. The fundamentalists are throwing around a lot of baseless accusations hoping to criminalize the Recusants however they can. We receive more and more petitions to the crown every day.”
“That’s unfortunate,” I said. A whisper of fear crept through me. More paranoia meant that the eyes of the people would be sharply attuned to anything that smelled of magic.
As we entered the stables, I whispered a small prayer to the Six to help me survive my lesson without looking like a clumsy fool. I needed to impress Amaranthine with my competence if I wanted to win her over.
“Well, I’m off to ride Zin,” Thandilimon said. “Good luck at your lesson.”
He departed with a bow and a smile, leaving me stranded in the middle of the barn. Horses stood in various sets of cross ties being saddled, unsaddled, bathed, and a number of other things I couldn’t put a name to. Straw flew as stable hands cleaned stalls, hurrying past me with wheelbarrows or brooms. I had no idea whether to search for Amaranthine somewhere in the building or outside in one of the many practice arenas.
“Excuse me. Are you looking for your lesson, Your Highness?” A tall man with sun-aged skin stepped into my path.
“Yes, thank you,” I replied, straightening my shoulders.
“Jamin Theeds.” He introduced himself with a bow. “I’m the stable master and head trainer here.”
“Lovely to meet you,” I said.
“Come this way.” He led me through the barn and out the far end at a brisk pace. Outside, a sturdy-looking horse the color of mead stood in the middle of a small, round arena. His ears flopped to either side like a mule’s as Amaranthine scratched behind them. My mouth went dry and I clutched reflexively for skirts I wasn’t wearing. Theeds escorted me into the pen, dust curling up from beneath the soles of his boots.
Amaranthine faced us with one hip cocked, wearing her plain shirt and breeches as though they were the vestmen
ts of a queen. Like her brother, she towered over me. Cachets of every color adorned her right forearm, the thin bracelets stacked almost halfway to her elbow. Despite my tailored riding clothes, I felt as homely and small as a sparrow beside her. A few loose pieces of hair swept the edge of her jawline, which was set in a challenging expression.
I crumpled beneath her stare.
“Thanks, Theeds.” She nodded a dismissal to him, already busy pulling down the stirrups.
My stomach knotted, and a familiar tingle raced down my arm. I jabbed my fingernails into my palm until the magic faded into the pain.
Amaranthine finished with the saddle and finally faced me. Despite my memory of her eyes, they still took me by surprise—a mutable gray that reminded me of earth and sky all at once.
“Princess Amaranthine.” I finally found words. “I appreciate you doing this for me.”
She growled. “For the love of the Six, don’t call me that. Just Mare. Yes, like a horse. Stupid, I know, but I can’t stand Amaranthine. What a ridiculously overlong and pretentious collection of syllables.”
I couldn’t quite bring myself to say it. In Havemont it would be offensive for anyone outside of immediate family to shorten the name of a royal.
“Anyway, we’re wasting time. Let’s get you on this horse. Stand facing the saddle and bend your left leg at the knee.”
I stepped up to the left side of the horse, self-conscious in my breeches, wondering if wearing pants would stop feeling odd after enough lessons.
“This is Louie, by the way,” she said, gesturing to the horse. “Whoa is his favorite speed.” He flicked his tail as if answering to his name.
Before I had time to ask what came next, her hands cupped beneath my bent knee, flinging me into the saddle as though I weighed no more than a sack of flour. I fumbled at the leather, trying to find my balance.
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